


Turning

by JennaCupcakes



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Dancer AU, Dancing, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 03:06:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennaCupcakes/pseuds/JennaCupcakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire would have been okay with admiring Enjolras from a distance, but he's also okay with dancing with Enjolras without any distance between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turning

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
> 
> Author's Note: This isn't beta-read (one day I will actually find a beta-reader, trust me), and I'm sorry for my lack of anatomical vocabulary.   
> Also, it's really pointlessly fluffy, so leave if you were looking for a plot.   
> And, hey, look, I've taken a sad song as a title and made it better!

Grantaire is late, he is always late, but today he doesn’t care.

Finding a parking space near the dance studio is hell, especially at night, now that the quarter is brimming with clubbers and drunks and the occasional hippie, and he has to run to the dance studio. Summer is usually his favourite time of the year, but right now he hates the heat that still lingers, even now that the day is almost over, and the windless air that carries the smell of sickeningly sweet alcohol and tobacco, both things he can’t think of right now because _goddamnit_ he is a dancer and he takes care of his body, at least before training sessions. He dodges people on the sidewalk, shoves open the door to the studio and takes two steps at once.

When he runs into the mirror room all the others have already changed and are starting their warm-ups, and he strips hurriedly and puts on his leggings and black t-shirt.

Eponine comes over to greet him with a handshake and a grin.

“Is Bahorel not coming?” she asks, pointing to the empty space that Bahorel’s bag and helmet usually take up. Grantaire nods while he finishes putting on his shoes.

“He’s still at the ER. Joly convinced him to go. Turns out he needed stitches after all,” he says with a shrug. It’s not the first time Bahorel got himself injured, and it’s not the first time he has to spend a night at the hospital because he refused to go there in the first place.

Eponine pats Grantaire’s back, then sits down and resumes her stretching. It’s really scary how flexible she is – she has both hands wrapped around the foot of her outstretched leg, and her nose is touching her knee. Dark hair is covering her face.

“And still you’re here,” she comments from underneath of the mess of her she has yet to tie back, “Are you showing some dedication at last? Miss Fantine will be delighted!”

She laughs and he joins in, because he really isn’t known for his dedication amongst his fellow dancers, but Bahorel is in no shape to do anything besides frightening nurses and doctors at the hospital, and someone has to pay attention to the steps for the two of them. That’s the merit of what they’re doing – in pairs, no one is ever alone, and there’s always someone to teach you the steps.

“Well, you know me. Full of surprises.”

He winks at Eponine when she sits back up to stretch her other leg. She rolls her eyes and leans down again – though this time her nose doesn’t quite touch her knee.

Grantaire has just begun his own stretching when Miss Fantine suddenly shows up behind him. “Where is your partner, Grantaire?”

He flinches because he never expects her to sneak up on him quite as silently as she does, but she always moves with so much grace that her steps don’t make a fucking sound. He runs a hand through his hair and tries to cover it up. “No, he’s not coming. He got himself injured and needs to stay at the hospital. They want to make sure he hasn’t lost too much blood.”

Miss Fantine doesn’t even ask, because Bahorel is Bahorel and at least Grantaire is here. She moves on with a sigh, and Grantaire continues to bend his body in awkward ways that make him wish he hadn’t spent half of last night on Courfeyrac’s sofa and the other half drinking with him. Almost every joint in his body pops, and he grins when Eponine sends him an angry glare because of the sounds.

He’s just getting really into it when suddenly there’s an angry growl from the other end of the room, followed by an exasperated exclamation.

“His car broke down!” Enjolras grumbles, holding his mobile in his right hand. Grantaire is almost sure that guy is half elvish, because there isn’t a thing Enjolras can’t do gracefully. He’s like a god in their group of moderately talented dancers, and nobody can deny that they like to watch him perform, because it’s simply _magic_.

Miss Fantine is next to him within a second.

“What happened?” she asks with a concerned frown, and the creases on Enjolras’ forehead soften immediately. He looks at her apologetically. “Combferre. His car broke down and he can’t get here. He’s not coming.”

He looks downright crushed, because that means he won’t get to practice tonight and Grantaire feels his own heart sink because he likes to watch Enjolras – one day he’ll get over how creepy that sounds – when suddenly Miss Fantine turns to him with a smile that can’t mean anything good and signals him to come over.

Oh no.

Oh _fucking hell_ no.

“I guess you’re both lucky tonight,” she states with a smile, “At least you still get to practice. Don’t try anything funny, leave out any elements you don’t feel comfortable with, and Enjolras, don’t drop him.”

Then she hurries of to look after Cosette and Marius, who seem to have been discussing something from the last lesson. Grantaire is left standing in front of Enjolras with a feeling that could be either dread or anticipation and is probably both. Enjolras looks mildly bored.

“You’re usually on first position, right?” Grantaire asks – as if he doesn’t already know the answer – to get over the awkward silence between them. Doing this with someone he’s not accustomed to touching and moving with is bothering him just as much as the actual fact that this is Enjolras and he can’t even look at the guy most of the times without mentally undressing him because _hot damn_.

Enjolras nods. “If that is a problem, I could do fourth.”

Grantaire tries not to squeal at the realization that Enjolras actually remembered his position. He’s probably memorised the entire setup, because what Grantaire lacks in dedication, Enjolras shows in abundance.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Grantaire is quick to assure, and he really would like to have more time to mentally prepare himself for this, but Miss Fantine is moving to the centre of the room now to demonstrate a new element and they have to move to make room for her. Grantaire ends up standing behind Enjolras while the teacher performs a spin with the help of Courfeyrac, who lifts her with about zero effort.

What they’re doing isn’t ballet, because it’s too informal for that, and it’s not acrobatic either. Their dancing could be classified as a strange mix of both, it has solo parts, but also one partner lifting the other or spinning him or her, and occasionally there’s a Dirty Dancing move.

“Did you get that?” Enjolras asks when they get permission to try it for themselves. They are scattered across the room in pairs of two now, and some have already started practicing.

Grantaire lets his knuckles pop, a smug grin on his face. If he’s going to do this, he’s going to do this right.

“Of course,” he says, “But are you sure you can lift me? I mean, I think I’m kind of heavier than Combferre...”

Enjolras’ smile is tiny, almost not recognisable as one, but it’s there. He seems to enjoy Grantaire’s challenging tone, or maybe he just wonders who Grantaire thinks he is.

“It’s not about the weight,” he explains, “It’s all about how you do it. Technique.”

“Bahorel says it’s all about strength,” Grantaire replies provokingly, but Enjolras snorts.

“What isn’t about strength for Bahorel?”

Grantaire kind of has to agree with that. Enjolras moves to stand in front of Grantaire, his feet set firmly on the ground and his hands extended towards Grantaire.

“Come on, then,” he says, “Let’s give it a try.”

Grantaire swallows and hopes Enjolras doesn’t notice, then takes a step forward and puts his hands on Enjolras’ shoulders. Enjolras places his hands on Grantaire’s hips, looks him in the eyes and counts. “Five, six, seven, eight.”

Grantaire doesn’t even try to jump; he just stays on the ground with his eyes fixed on Enjolras’ and a look of terror on his face. He’s going to be lifted into the air by Enjolras, and there’s going to be spinning involved and this really isn’t easy, not even technically speaking, because it involves a fuckload of trusting your partner. He’s going to be above Enjolras’ head – or is supposed to be, at least – with nothing but his own hands as support on Enjolras’ shoulders and the other’s hands on his hips.

If Enjolras doesn’t let him fall, Grantaire’s probably going to do the falling himself by simply fainting up there.

“Nope, not today.” Grantaire lets go and takes a step backwards. “Sorry, man. I just...”

The most infuriating thing about this is not Grantaire’s lack of trust, but that Enjolras simply _knows_. He nods, and steps back, and lets his hands fall down to his sides. “It’s probably not the best thing to start with,” he agrees, and Grantaire is grateful and slightly ashamed at the same time.

He hadn’t even been able to _jump_.

They wait till Miss Fantine demonstrates the next element, something that looks even more complicated but actually involves a lot less hanging around seven feet in the air held only by the guy Grantaire has a crush on, so he breathes out a sigh of relief and turns to Enjolras. There is a bit of fumbling when they try to get their hands right – _she said palm towards me – no, not that way, the other way – yes, like that_ – and then Grantaire leans forward and raises his right leg, Enjolras takes it and then Grantaire closes his eyes and lets himself fall forward, all his body weight being held by Enjolras who is spinning him now, and when he works up the courage to open his eyes again, it’s actually pretty much the best thing in the world.

He’s prepared to do the whole element the first time around, so he’s a little surprised when Enjolras lets him down on the ground again without extending a hand to lift him up for the next part. Grantaire just sort of falls to the side unceremoniously, and on his left he can hear Eponine laughing at him. Enjolras is smiling as well, but he holds out a hand when he realises his mistake.

“I thought it would be best to go slow. Do you want to try the whole thing?” he asks and Grantaire nods. That really hadn’t been all that hard.

Actually, it had been pretty damn amazing.

They’re doing the spin again, and this time Enjolras’ hand is there when Grantaire ends on the ground and he half jumps and is half pulled upwards and behind Enjolras’ back where he wraps his legs around the other’s hips and lets himself be pulled around by the remaining momentum until he’s face to face with Enjolras again, still sitting on his hips, and then lets his upper body fall backwards, his hands tightly clasping those of Enjolras. He can’t see Enjolras’ face from here, but the touching kind of makes that unnecessary – he can feel Enjolras’ pulse the way he has his hands wrapped around the others wrists, and his back is practically aligned with Enjolras’ leg, his t-shirt rubbing gently against the other’s leggings. Hell, he can feel the muscles of Enjolras’ body.

He would be lying if he said that dancing with Enjolras didn’t feel like dancing with an angel.

There’s an easy grace to his movements, and it affects Grantaire whenever they touch, making his movements that much easier, lighter, better. It’s like he’s standing in Enjolras’ light, sharing his blessing, and it’s wonderful and scary at the same time, because he hadn’t meant to get so close.

He lets go and falls back onto the ground, shoulders first, his head pressed to his chest.

“That is not the actual ending to that element,” Enjolras remarks with a smile, and Grantaire grins sheepishly. They haven’t done much, but Enjolras’ face is glowing, and his hair is all dishevelled and wild. It only adds to his otherworldly aura.

Miss Fantine applauds them nevertheless, maybe because she feels like the two of them need a little encouragement, but they really don’t after that. Grantaire still isn’t used to Enjolras’ movements, not entirely, and Enjolras keeps miscalculating Grantaire’s weight, which earns Grantaire a bruise because he hits his head on the ceiling, but they’re not afraid of touching anymore.

The last element is another spin, this time only one turn. Grantaire holds his arms outstretched horizontally – he high-fives Eponine, who is practicing next to them with Montparnasse – and Enjolras wraps his arms around him like he wants to hug him. Grantaire jumps and Enjolras uses the momentum to introduce the spinning movement, flinging him around and putting him down again before Grantaire can blink.

For a few seconds, he’s had Enjolras’ heart beating against his own.

Enjolras laughs and Grantaire laughs, too, and it feels really great to have done something right. They’re still standing close together – he’s never noticed the loss of personal space with Bahorel, it just happened when you were touching each other all over for the dancing – and Grantaire has to fight the urge to touch Enjolras’ hair.

“Would you like to get a drink?” he blurts out suddenly, and the way that Enjolras is looking at him makes him really uncomfortable, because it’s all surprise and wide eyes and a touch of red on marble cheeks, and Grantaire just wants to run and hide. “With me, I mean. Sometime.”

But the smile is back on Enjolras’ face, this small smile that is barely recognisable, and Grantaire can relax again, because Enjolras smiles and says ‘sure’ like it’s no big deal, and Grantaire wants to know what is going on in that head because damn, it’s not fair for someone to be that mysterious when there were mere mortals who have to deal with that person. Enjolras really has a knack for making him feel angry and unbelievably happy at the same time.

The lesson ends pretty soon after that, and Grantaire heads home in a daze, not even bothering to say goodbye to Eponine or any of the others. He heats up some Chili con Carne and flops down on his couch, switching on the TV with a stupid grin on his face, thinking of Enjolras. 


End file.
